Dysfunctional
by hideousbeauty
Summary: Join the other millions of people in the world who have chosen to upgrade their lives with your very own Personal Computer Unit cyborg! The have internet access and can do anything you ask of them- from housework, to personal pleasures, to doing your math work! It's the new millennium, and PCUs are the only way to go! Brought to you by the Capital, we guarantee your satisfaction!


It was that day. Finally. My sixteenth birthday which meant it was that day for me as well. Mother was dressing me all up in a silly, sage dress and brushing my hair a million times over. I'd be bald by now had it not struck the hour on the old grandfather clock in our hallway, making her jump and tug just a bit too hard to tie the ribbon into place. With another wince, she was dragging me down the stairs and out to the bullet train to the capitol- a place I hadn't been since I was born in it. Yeah, it was that day for me and a few other kids. It was the stupid, pointless day.

And so when we arrived at the large, chrome building cover in florescent lights, I fell into line. They pricked our fingers with some odd machine and, with a quick, uncaring nod, they sent me on through without my mother, who I assumed would be standing right outside with that stupid, nervous grin she always donned whenever I had to do anything on my own. I chance a look back after stepping onto the moving floor to see William walking up to take her arm.

And now it was my turn, my day to get my own William or whatever they were to call him. And I couldn't care less about it.

My sixteenth birthday, the year being 3016, and the millennium children were to get the special edition of the cyborg models today. I didn't really care that these were supposed to be some special model. I didn't care that they could do more. I just didn't care. The thought that the government was sending me home with some sort of humanoid computer that I was to spend the rest of my life with just seemed like some cheap trick to make controlling us seem more appealing. I could lie and say that my apathy was some sort of ruse for being slightly curious about what was going to be so special about my model, but I really didn't care. They could tell me that they happen t somehow run out and send me home with absolutely nothing, and I honestly wouldn't be any worse for wear. But of course, that was asking for too much.

And so I followed, at the end of the line, a group of fifteen other kids my age into a large, white room that looked surprisingly empty. A few of the kids shifted nervously as the floor parted us until we stood from a vertical line into a now horizontal one. I sighed, ripping the ribbon from my hair and shoving it into the top of my dress. I shook out my hair before pushing it back and waited just like the rest of them.

What felt like hours later, a woman emerged from a spot on the floor on an elevator that seemed to come from nowhere. With a clipboard in hand, a pencil shoved through her too tight of a bun, and glasses that slid down her pointed nose, she paid s no mind as a platform rose beside her with what appeared to be buttons covering it.

"Alright, listen up." Her voice didn't seem to match her face. I imagined her sounding like a bird. This was actually quite... comforting- which only put me more on edge. "Today is your sixteenth birthdays. Happy Birthday and congratulations. As you all know, you were born on the millennium year, and as a small present to celebrate that and many long years to come afterward," her speech sounded way too practiced, "we of the capitol would like to gift you all with the latest model in the Personal Cyborg Unit program. Your day has finally come to be paired with your very own PCU. As a special bonus, after the basic model has been assigned to you, you will get to personalize certain, basic features- such as voice and appearance." This got a few interested gasps and other noises of excitement from the rest of the group. "Now, if you'll step forward when I call your name."

Each name was called, and each boy or girl was paired with a basic model that appeared the opposite sex. One girl named her model Parker, one boy called his Charlotte. I rolled my eyes as excited murmurs filled the room and new voices filled it as they activated their new toys. And then it was my turn.

"Quinn Fabray." I walked up to the woman who then took my blood from the same spot as the ones before, leaving a tender spot of the inside of my arm that my opposite hand was now finding itself at to rub gently. "That's odd..." I looked over at her to see her look from her chart to me herself. "I can't say that this has ever happened before. Wait just a moment."

"Wait, tell me what's happening," I insisted. "Tell me what it says."

"It seems, Miss Fabray, that we are out of male PCUs. You will be paired with a female. Here she comes now."

I suppose most people would have protested. I'll be the odd one out; I can't recall another person ever being paired with a model the same gender as them. It's sure to cause something for me in the future, as it'd already gained me the silence and stares of the room, but considering I didn't want this thing in the first place, I wasn't going to make a big deal of it. Knowing these people, they'd say suck it up and just send it home with me anyway. I decided on not prolonging the course anymore that I had to.

And then a model of a young girl was brought out before me on the hover trains. She was shorter than me and tan. But other than that, she was completely plain, ready for me to build. So I took her hand like I'd seen everyone else do and just like my mother had made me practice a hundred times before leaving the house. Her eyes fluttered open, a deep brown color that were so life-like, I could see why everyone forgot they weren't human sometimes. She blinked a few times, not saying anything.

"My name is Quinn," I spoke slowly to her. "Quinn Fabray."

She nodded, and the woman beside her clicked her tongue. "Well?" The woman spoke. "Say something. You aren't broken, are you?"

The small girl looked up at her and then to me. She looked down and then brought her free hand up to cover her chest. "I don't have any clothes on."

I couldn't help but laugh.

"You are a computer unit! You aren't supposed to care about silly nonsense such as that!" The woman began punching in keys on the pad beside her. "This is wrong. This is just all wrong," she spoke more to herself.

Ignoring her, I couldn't help but grin. "C'mon then. Let's go get you some clothes. ...and also maybe some hair."

The girl in front of me looked up some before nodding and allowing me to lead her through the crowd of staring people and PCUs and into the customization room the woman had pointed out beforehand. Maybe it wouldn't be so bad. This PCU already seemed different than all the others. I didn't mind if they called her broken. I'd rather have that then the monotone "How may I serve you?" greeting that everyone else got.

So after selecting a brown headpiece that she seemed to like and a skirt and sweater I let her pick out on her own, it was time to face my mother with this broken PCU she'd forced me to get on my birthday instead of the concert I wanted to go to. With a smile on my face, I held the girl's hand again and lead her towards the door to leave, the other kids still whispering behind us.

My mother wasn't too happy about my new computer unit. She was calling someone new at the capitol every other day it seemed. I, on the other hand, had been sat in my room with my new PCU arguing back and forth on what we'd be calling her.

"You have to have a name! What's so wrong with Alice? I like it a lot." I crossed my arms.

She simply shook her head and mimicked me.

"Alright, fine then. Katie?"

Another shake of her head.

"Sarah?"

No good.

And it went on like this for days. As I sewed in her headpiece, her head now thrown back and her brown eyes looking up at me with needle in hand. It went on as I had her try on my old clothes that I'd planned on getting rid of. It went on when I was told to go to bed but couldn't sleep. It just kept happening. With every name I threw out, she shook her head or pouted. She hardly ever spoke. And so she just didn't have a name for the next three months or more. Until one day we were watching television and looking through my mother's old magazines to cut out for my bedroom walls.

She came up to me smiling and held out one of the pages she'd just cut out. "What is it?" I asked taking it from her. She simply continued to smile and pointed down at a name written out in large pink letters and accented with a golden star. "Rachel?" She smiled and with a quick nod, she sat down beside me and laid her head on my shoulder. "Alright, Rachel. Not my favorite name, but okay. If that's what you like, then Rachel you shall be."

We cut out the print of her new name and hung it, with its star, above the side of my bed she slept on.


End file.
